


Ripe as Summer Quinces

by starfishstar



Series: Golden, Ripe and Rotten [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, the summer Gellert Grindelwald spent in Godric's Hollow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 03:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3234377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishstar/pseuds/starfishstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Albus, my white knight,” Gellert said, and something in Albus’ chest loosened and blossomed, as it always did when Gellert spoke those words. “What shall we do today, with all the world at our feet?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ripe as Summer Quinces

**Author's Note:**

> This is part two of a series of three stories about young Dumbledore and Grindelwald, from beginning to end of the summer they knew each other in Godric’s Hollow. The first part is “[Sharp and Bright against a Golden Sky](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3104387).”
> 
> Update, 2/21/2015: This is now a (slightly) revised version from the one I originally posted. Nothing too major’s changed, just a few threads I wanted to highlight a little more, to make this a better set-up for the upcoming story #3.

 

“Which is more powerful, do you think, love or magic?” Albus asked, bending a leafy bough out of the way as he followed Gellert through the sun-dappled woods that dotted the hills outside Godric’s Hollow. It was high summer, and Albus was sure he had never seen the world so green and lush and bright.

Love and magic – both were strange powers that had occupied Albus a great deal since he’d first laid eyes on Gellert in the dusty lane outside Bathilda Bagshot’s house, the sunlight turning his face and hair golden. Gellert had smiled his lightning-bolt smile that day and turned Albus’ dismal world into something luminous. 

Now, brushing his way through the forest, Gellert turned and grinned wolfishly. Albus could never decide of what animal it was that Gellert most reminded him. A great tawny mountain cat? A bird of prey in flight? In any case, it was something dangerous and beautiful and utterly untamed.

“Magic is more powerful,” Gellert said, immediate and certain. He stopped in front of the elder tree serving as the target for that day’s magical experiments and plucked his charmed arrow back out of its bark. He inspected the arrow closely, then straightened up, satisfied, and flashed Albus another dazzling grin. They were creating a new spell for sending objects across distances, and having great success. “What else but magical power gives that wild knot of fire in the belly, the feeling that you can fly, you can conquer, you can be anything you choose?”

Albus supposed he might have said “heart” rather than “belly,” but otherwise those words could have described precisely how Gellert himself made Albus feel. In Gellert’s presence, Albus felt he could cast the most powerful charms, unlock the greatest secrets, or – as Gellert assured him he would one day do – take up his rightful role as a ruler of great wisdom and benevolence. Nothing was impossible, when they roamed the summer woods together, birds singing in the high branches of the trees and wildflowers bursting out of the earth, leaving scatterings of pale pink and delicate purple and luminous yellow everywhere Albus looked.

Gellert held out his hand towards Albus, the arrow in his outstretched palm. “And you? Can you charm the arrow to hit this tree at one hundred paces?”

Albus smiled, feeling warmth spreading out from his heart, or his belly, or wherever it was that power began. “Of course,” he said.

Gellert smiled back, the wolf returning to his eyes. “At two hundred paces?”

“Yes,” Albus said. With Gellert beside him, he knew he could do anything.

“Blindfolded?” Gellert asked, and Albus just grinned.

They walked two hundred paces back from the tree, weaving between branches and bushes. The elder was obscured now, but magic would find what the other senses could not. Albus shivered when Gellert’s long fingers brushed his temples, as Gellert tied his handkerchief around Albus’ eyes. The riotous birdsong and rustling leaves of the forest, that symphony of the natural world, seemed so many times louder when Albus was deprived of his sense of sight. 

Gellert lay the arrow in Albus’ hand, and Albus felt sparks along his skin where Gellert touched him, teasing glances of something bright and full of power, and Albus, even for all his learning, couldn’t rightly have said if it was magic or desire.

Whatever it was, when Albus spoke their new charm, his arrow flew true.

“Oh, Albus,” Gellert whispered into his ear, sending waves of shivers down that side of Albus’ body. Deft hands slid the blindfold away, and Albus blinked into the sight of Gellert’s avid face in front of him. “What magic we shall be capable of together, you and I,” Gellert breathed. “And a thousand times more so once we have the Hallows.” Something feverish flared in his eyes when he spoke the word.

That feeling twisted again in Albus’ heart, or stomach, or wherever it was, something powerful that defied facile description. Something that was Gellert, all and only Gellert. But Albus smiled, for how could he not smile in the face of Gellert’s radiant enthusiasm. And he led the way to fetch their arrow back from the elder tree.

When the shadows of the forest lengthened, heralding the fall of dusk, they strolled back to the village, walking side by side with their shoulders brushing, in a glow of shared accomplishment. Albus’ body thrummed with it, the nearness of Gellert, the awareness of his own power.

“Same time tomorrow?” Gellert asked, when Albus paused with him in the lane in front of Bathilda’s house. Albus could still hardly fathom that this same drab village, where he had despaired at the thought of returning, had brought him the joy that was Gellert.

“I’ll meet you here,” Albus promised. He didn’t touch Gellert’s hand nor press his lips to his, not here where all the village could see. But there was a wicked glint in Gellert’s eyes that promised good things for the morrow.

The summer sun was setting behind the hills beyond the village, staining the trees and the houses blood red and outlining Gellert in strange light, as Albus waved goodbye and turned his steps towards home. Already he could feel the responsibilities that waited for him there settling down onto him, heavy weights around his neck.

*

“Where do you think you’re going?” Aberforth demanded, placing himself in the doorway so that Albus had no choice but to go past him. Aberforth looked particularly grubby in the morning light streaming in through the door, Albus thought. Dishevelled. Not at all how the brother of a future great leader ought to look. Truly, who could blame Albus for not spending his time with his dull brother, when he could be with brilliant and beautiful Gellert instead?

“I’m going out,” Albus said, keeping his tone, he felt, remarkably free of disdain. “I shall be back in the evening. Surely even you can manage to look after yourself until then, Aberforth?” 

“Al,” Ariana said suddenly, from the little window seat where she liked to sit on sunny days, half-hidden behind the billowing white curtains. Her hands clasped each other in the folds of her pale blue pinafore and she looked over at Albus with her gentle, anxious eyes. “Al, Al.”

Albus felt a twist of guilt in his gut. But it wasn’t as if he could do Ariana any good by sitting around all day in the house with her. Whereas with Gellert, he was learning more and more magic, so he would one day be powerful enough to ensure no one would ever again be persecuted for having magical ability, as Ariana had been.

“Ariana,” he said, crossing the room to her. She held up one pale hand to him, and he clasped it in his own. “I’ll be back by evening, and you have such a lovely spot here for watching the world go by outside on this lovely, sunny day, you lucky girl. And Aberforth will make sure you get some lunch, won’t he, Aberforth?” he shot across the room at his brother.

Aberforth glowered back at him. “Yes, sir. I’ll look after Ariana, which is more than can be said for you these days.”

“Oh, don’t be childish, Aberforth,” Albus snapped. He wasn’t shirking his duties. He was training to protect wizardkind, which surely was the greatest duty of all. He squeezed Ariana’s hand, set it gently back down in her lap, and crossed to the door again, pushing past Aberforth as he went. “You might also try doing some laundry,” he told his brother. “Frankly, you smell.”

The stream of invective Aberforth hollered after him as he made his way up the lane made Albus cringe. Aberforth, he thought sternly, ought to learn to have command over himself.

“ _There_ you are,” Gellert said, when Albus caught up with him outside Bathilda Bagshot’s house. The sun was rising high in the sky, so bright it glinted off even the cobblestones and the dust of the lane, causing the world to sparkle. “I was wondering where you had got to. Look, old Baggy has given me something.”

Albus teetered on the edge of telling Gellert it wasn’t really fair to talk that way about Professor Bagshot – she _was_ a brilliant mind, even if her behaviour was sometimes eccentric – but then Gellert popped something unexpectedly sweet and soft into Albus’ mouth, and Albus laughed in surprise.

“Quinces,” Gellert said. “Usually they’re not to be harvested until autumn, but she’s let me experiment on a few of them, and I got these ones to ripen sooner. Good?”

“Delicious,” Albus assured him, as the golden flavour of the fruit exploded across his senses, wiping out all other thought. “Brilliant.” Feeling bold today, Albus reached for Gellert’s hand, but Gellert had already turned and started to walk out ahead.

Albus jogged a few paces to catch up. Gellert had one hand shoved easily in his pocket, the other holding a quince of his own, from which he was biting off pieces contemplatively. “Very good,” he decreed, then swallowed, and turned his attention back to Albus. “Albus, my white knight,” he said, and something in Albus’ chest loosened and blossomed, as it always did when Gellert spoke those words. “What shall we do today, with all the world at our feet?”

“I’d like to show you something,” Albus said, feeling suddenly bashful as he asked it. “There’s a place that’s a favourite of mine – would you like to see?”

Gellert smiled at him, the smile that was brighter and bigger than the sun. Albus wondered that he had ever thought Gellert a lion or a hawk or any animal. He was no animal. He was nothing less than the midsummer sun.

*

They climbed to the top of a small but steep hill that jutted up out of the green countryside. The last stretch of the way was so thick with brambles that Albus had to guide Gellert, showing him the hidden footholds and small gaps in the tangle of branches that would allow them to pass. The thicket was rich with the scents of flowers and earth and living things.

At the top was a grassy depression framed by trees on three sides, but with one side opening onto a stunning view of the countryside that fell away beneath them. In past summers, Albus had spent many afternoons here, reading and dreaming. He’d never before brought a friend.

“Come, this way,” Albus said, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted so much for Gellert to like this place that he loved.

He held out his hand and Gellert took it, allowing Albus to lead him the few steps down from the last of the trees into the grassy nest. Then, giving no warning, Albus grabbed Gellert around the waist and tumbled them both to the ground, the soft ground cushioning their fall.

Gellert laughed in surprise, and Albus’ heart fluttered with joy. It wasn’t often he managed to surprise Gellert.

“Look,” Albus said, slipping his arm beneath Gellert and lifting his head so he had a proper view. “Even lying here in the grass, you can see everything. We’re higher than the birds up here, I think. Certainly higher than any other person for miles around.”

“Your England,” Gellert said with a fond smirk. “All this polite greenness. When we leave here, Albus, the first thing I shall do is show you mountains. You are a man able to stand atop the highest and wildest peaks, I think.”

“Yes, tell me,” Albus said, because he loved the romance and mystery with which Gellert imbued every story he told. “Tell me of the places we will travel.”

He kept his arm beneath Gellert’s head, and laced the fingers of his other hand through Gellert’s. Gellert glanced down at their joined hands and smiled a little, this one a more secretive selection from his range of smiles, one Albus couldn’t unlock.

“Hmm,” Gellert murmured, taking his time and clearly enjoying Albus’ anticipation. Gellert was even more beautiful at close range, if such a thing were possible. Albus studied his eyes, his golden lashes, his fine nose, the curls that swept across his forehead. So much perfection in a single being. Albus’ pulse raced.

“Germany first, I think,” Gellert decided, running his fingertips down Albus’ palm until Albus shivered. “There are some people I’d like you to meet there, and besides, I think you will love her rivers. Then perhaps we will follow the Danube – the Donau, the lovely Duna – through the great capitals, _Wien_ and _Budapest_ , _Beograd_ and _București_. I shall show you my beautiful Carpathians, and the stunning Alps. I have many friends, Albus, who will be eager to meet you. I have many allies still, many who did not agree with my expulsion from school.”

Something dark flitted across Gellert’s handsome face, and Albus squeezed his hand, wanting to comfort. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “It’s unfair that you weren’t allowed to finish school. But you don’t need that sort of education, Gellert. Look how much more you know than anyone else around us.”

Gellert was smiling again. “Indeed. I had long since outgrown Durmstrang. As you have outgrown Hogwarts. No need to return there now, Albus, ever again. We will forge our own path. You will meet my friends and allies, and together we will begin to rule.”

Albus shivered again. There was something about the way Gellert said that word, _rule_ , with its throaty continental “r” and its dark, mysterious “u” that left Albus breathless with anticipation. What a force they would be together, he and Gellert. What power they would hold.

“Yes,” Albus whispered, leaning in closer, pressing Gellert down into their nest of sweet summer grasses. He breathed in the scent of green, growing things, and the scent that was all Gellert, spicy and sharp. “We will rule and we will make the whole world new.”

He pressed his lips to Gellert’s, and felt Gellert smirk, as he sometimes did when Albus kissed him, a smirk that seemed to say there was more hidden in him than he would let Albus see, that he kept a part of himself always aloof and beyond Albus’ reach. But Albus didn’t care. He would take as much of Gellert as Gellert would give.

Albus ran his hands down the length of Gellert’s body, lifted his shirt and kissed his golden skin. Gellert surged upward and caught Albus’ mouth with his own, for a moment still smiling that secretive smile, but then he was kissing Albus so hard that Albus felt the world swing dizzily around them, and he forgot to care about anything but this. He laced his fingers through Gellert’s hair, closed his eyes and held fast.

“Gellert,” he whispered, and then words failed him and he kissed Gellert again, searching and desperate.

“Albus,” Gellert said, with that rich, golden laughter in his voice. “My lovely Albus. Together, you and I shall do such terribly beautiful things.” His warm hands travelled Albus’ body, finding every yearning part of him, making every inch of his skin thrum with life, and Albus shuddered with the strength that surged through him at Gellert’s touch, the fire that lit up inside him at the sound of Gellert’s voice. 

Albus didn’t care what secrets Gellert held. It was lust for magical knowledge that had first brought him to Godric’s Hollow, but surely it was love for Albus, too, that had caused him to stay on so long. The power Gellert craved would be a force for good, Albus was sure of that. With his brilliance, his beauty, how could it not be? 

Eyes pressed tightly closed, Albus gave himself over to the force of nature that was Gellert Grindelwald, surrendered to the fire of Gellert’s hands on his skin. Love, magic, and power, perhaps they were all one and the same.

With Gellert, surely, that was one thing that was true.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is, obliquely, a reference to a line that’s always stuck with me from Shakespeare’s “As You Like It”: “you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe.” The literal reference is to fruits that can’t be eaten until they’ve technically started to rot. The metaphorical meaning is a person who’s such a fool, they’ll die before they ever reach their full intellect…but I decided that could apply to moral development, too. (The fruit in “As You Like It” is a medlar, but I’d misremembered it as a quince – which indeed follows the same rots-before-it-ripens principle – so I stuck with that.)


End file.
